Hallucination
by TrafalgarLucy
Summary: Post!Reichenbach. John comes home right after seeing Sherlock jumps and thinks he's still there.


Not one of my best stories, but I wanted to put it on here anyway. It's a little depressive?

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John still believed what he just saw wasn't real, even though it was him who checked his friend's pulse after he reached him. Of course, there was no pulse. He was dead. One could tell by just looking at him. Surviving a jump from a building that high would've been a miracle. Yet, he still hoped he was alive. Hoped, that his best friend was just playing a trick to him. That he would open the door to their flat and he would be there, waiting for him. Having that hope in his heart John slowly walked upstairs, stopping as he noticed how the door wasn't closed. It was open. A slight smile made it's way onto his lips as his left hand touched the door, pushed it open and revealed an empty room to him. He stepped inside and looked around, his heart ached from beating so fast. His hands were shaking and his eyes began to tear up slightly. For a second he wanted to give up any hope left in his broken little heart.

A small, hot tear rolled down his right cheek as he turned to the kitchen. And then he saw him. He sat on one of the chairs, still wearing his black coat and his blue scarf. Apparently he made it home a few minutes ago. But how did John not see him? It didn't matter at this moment. He was here, he was alive. The doctor stepped closer, locking his eyes with Sherlock's. They looked sad, hurt and sorry. When John was standing right in front of him, the noirette decided to get up. He looked down at his flatmate and smiled. Something about this smile was terribly wrong, but John didn't notice. He was too happy to notice. Too happy to even care. Slowly, he raised his arms and threw himself into the taller man's arms and to his surprise Sherlock placed his arms around him, hugging him tightly.

It was in that moment, that John lost it. Hot, desperate tears of happiness and relief started to run down his cold, and rather pale cheeks. The shock was still there, but the hug made it better; made him forget. He should be angry, should be punching him in the face, but he just couldn't. For the past 20 minutes he thought he had lost him forever and now here he was. Sound and save. This was it. He would tell him. John took a deep breath to calm himself down before he spoke.

»Sherlock I... there's something I need to tell you... I need you to know... that I–«, his voice cracked. He couldn't get himself to finish his sentence. A heavy sigh escaped his lips, as he let go off Sherlock and stood on his toes. His eyes were closed and he was scared of the other's reaction. Would he push him off before he even got the chance to show him what he wasn't able to tell him? He didn't care. His breath was unsteady and his whole body was shaking as he finally pressed his lips against Sherlock's. Strangely enough they were as cold as ice, but he didn't care about that now. All he cared about, all he wanted to care about, was the fact that Sherlock didn't push him off. But he didn't kiss him back either. Being a bit confused about this John pulled away, looking up at the man he just kissed.

The smile on Sherlock's lips faded and turned into a sorrowful expression. He looked hurt. He looked sorry and John just couldn't understand why. He swallowed hard, before trying to speak again. »Sherlock I... I love you...« A whisper. That's all it was. But that didn't mean nobody heard it. »Who... are you talking you?«

The doctor twitched as he heard a familiar voice from behind and turned around, letting go of the man he loved. Right in the middle of his living room stood Lestrade, his eyes were filled with concern. John frowned, tilting his head. »I'm talking to Sherlock, obviously.« At that the inspector's eyes widened in shock and compassion. He walked closer and put both his hands on John's shoulders, looking into his eyes. Of course the other didn't understand what was going on. »John... he's not here... he's dead...« Greg had a hard time saying those words, but it was needed. He didn't quite know why he had to, though. From what he knew John was there when Sherlock... jumped to his death. He should know he was dead.  
John started to turn around. »What? No, he's not! He's right the...re...« The last part was barely audible. How could this be? He was there. Just a minute ago. He saw him! He hugged him. He–

Then he understood everything. Why his smile looked off. Why his lips were as cold as ice. Why didn't react to his kiss. Why he didn't say anything. Simply because he wasn't here. The second John realised he had been hallucinating, his legs gave in and he sat on the floor, staring at the chair he thought Sherlock was sitting on just a few moments ago. Only he wasn't. That was a fact and he had to accept it. No matter how much it hurt him. He couldn't do anything about it. He was gone...


End file.
